


Perchance to Dream

by Clare_Hope



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clare_Hope/pseuds/Clare_Hope
Summary: Crowley forgets that Aziraphale didn't die in the bookshop fire. There were no ducks in the pond.





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play: how many Good Omens fics can I name after lines from Shakespeare? (I have another one in the works, it's called "By Virtue Fall". I'm in too deep.) Notes about the fic itself at the end.

_ Crowley was sitting on a bench in St. James Park. The sky was clear, the air warm, the breeze light, the trees rustling softly. There were no ducks in the pond. _

_ "Lovely weather," someone said behind him. _

_ "That it is." Crowley glanced back. "Sorry, who are you?" _

_ "Oh, Nobody." Nobody offered him an ice cream cone. _

_ "I don't really like…" But Crowley took it anyway. Someone else might come along who did like ice cream, after all. "Thanks." _

_ "What brings you to the park?" _

_ "I was going to feed the ducks…" Crowley said, but his voice trailed off. There weren't any ducks. _

_ "What ducks?" _

_ "There aren't any, I suppose. That's weird." _

_ "Sometimes, things you expect to be there just aren't," responded Nobody. They sat down on the bench next to Crowley. _

_ Something about that felt wrong. "Uh, could you not…" _

_ "Not what?" _

_ "It's just, I was waiting for somebody." Crowley was sure he was right about that. After all, he wouldn't just be sitting here waiting for Nobody, would he? _

_ "I don't think somebody is coming." _

_ The ice cream had melted. Crowley tossed it away. "What do you mean?" _

_ Nobody tilted their head. "Don't you remember? Somebody won't be coming, I'm afraid." _

_ Crowley was also afraid. "What do you mean?" he repeated more loudly. _

_ "Well, Somebody is dead." _

_ "I don't--" _

_ "It burned down, don't you remember?" _

_ There were no ducks in the pond. _

_ Crowley tried to stand up, but it was like his limbs were suddenly impossibly heavy. The bench was on fire. "What do you mean, Somebody is dead?" _

_ "Aziraphale is dead," Nobody said, and then they were gone. _

_ "No!" Crowley cried. "No, please, come back! He's not…" _

_ There were stacks of burning books lining the pathways of the park. Crowley could stand up now, and he ran through the flames searching for either Nobody or Somebody. _

_ "Aziraphale!" he shouted. The water was a safe place from the fire, so he ran there. Maybe Somebody had also gone there to get away from the heat of the flames. _

_ There were no ducks in the pond, just a floating piece of paper that was also catching on fire. Crowley tumbled forward towards the holy water, and Somebody wasn't there to catch him, because Somebody was-- _

He hit the ground painfully. "No, no, no," he whimpered. Something was wrapped around him. He could hardly move, and he struggled to breathe. "No!"

_ The fire… _

Aziraphale was dead.

_ Was dreaming about it… _

A memory?

_ He can't be gone. _

"Crowley!" came a cry.

Through the floor, Crowley felt the vibrations of someone rushing towards him. He desperately tried to sit up, but the blanket that had been tucked around him had tangled and kept him from moving like he wanted to. Crowley thrashed around where he lay. "No!" An unrelenting sinking feeling gripped his chest, a tightness in his throat and a pain in his heart that threatened to take everything away, everything,  _ everything-- _

"My dear, you must stop struggling."

Crowley choked on his breath and tried to focus his gaze. "What?" he said.

"I said, you must stop struggling before you hurt yourself. Oh, you're all tangled up, let me help." The blanket was pulled away, freeing him. "Better?"

"I…" Crowley nodded. "Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale tilted his head and smiled. "Who else would I be, dear fellow?"

But Crowley couldn't answer through the lump in his throat.

"You fell asleep on my couch last night, and I didn't want to wake you." Aziraphale frowned. "Were you...I don't mean to be presumptuous, but you were making sounds in your sleep and then you started moving and you fell right off. You sounded very upset, were you having a bad dream?"

The dream was pressing too heavily on Crowley's mind to do anything other than stare in disbelief at the very alive Aziraphale in front of him.

"Crowley?"

"I forgot," Crowley managed. "I thought...I was dreaming that…"

Aziraphale, concerned, reached out and took his hand. "Everything is alright, my dear."

Crowley finally sat up. He remained motionless for a minute and then practically threw himself at the angel. "I forgot you were alive," he said into Aziraphale's shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around his friend's waist.

"Oh!" gasped Aziraphale.

Not caring that he rarely, if ever, hugged anyone if he could help it, Crowley focused on the angel's warmth. "Because I did, you know, I thought you were dead, and you're not but I just  _ forget _ sometimes and I get so afraid--"

Aziraphale must have gotten over his shock, because he was hugging Crowley back now. "It's alright, it's alright," he murmured. "Shh, dearest, it's alright."

Crowley dug his fingers into Aziraphale's back. He wished that he could fully convince himself that this was real. He sobbed.

With an unhappy sound, Aziraphale pulled him closer. "I'm here, Crowley. Please don't be upset, everything is alright." He swayed from side to side. "Don't cry."

Crying, like hugging, was something Crowley avoided like the plague (which he had avoided by teleporting across the Atlantic Ocean and spending several years in what would later become Maine). He just couldn't seem to stop the tears that poured from his eyes and soaked into Aziraphale's coat. "Sorry."

"No...that's not what I meant. You can cry, I'm just...I've hardly ever seen you this upset, my dear." Aziraphale's hand was combing softly through his hair.

"I thought you were dead," Crowley said again, as if that explained everything perfectly.

"But that was...that was several months ago, Crowley. Why are you crying  _ now _ ?"

"I don't know," Crowley confessed. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. Alright, well...shall I just hold you, then?" suggested Aziraphale. 

Crowley bit his tongue before he could fully beg Aziraphale to do just that. He nodded tightly instead.

Humming softly, Aziraphale kept rocking. His hand ran up and down Crowley's back. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, dearest. I've stuck around for over 6,000 years, I wouldn't let something like a little fire keep me away from you for long."

A small laugh escaped through Crowley's sobs. "You're impossible," he said.

"I know."

"I don't know what I would do if…"

"Shhh, don't even think about it. There's no need. I'm right here," Aziraphale reminded him. "And here I will be for as long as necessary."

Crowley closed his eyes. He wasn't really crying anymore, to his relief. "I'm glad."

It wouldn't be the last time he had a dream like that. They were never exactly the same, but they had some elements in common. Crowley would be somewhere, waiting, unsuspecting. Sometimes it was a park, sometimes in his car, sometimes a garden that looked a lot like Eden. But it was never quite  _ right _ : the missing ducks, for example, or no passenger seat at all in the Bentley. A Nobody was there, who looked different each time, and who would remind him that Aziraphale was dead. There was often a fire, but sometimes a storm that Crowley tried to seek shelter from and couldn't find anywhere to go.

Then he would wake up, always shaking and scared and confused. But it never took long for Aziraphale to come and take him in his arms and promise him that  _ it was just a dream, Crowley, I'm here, everything is alright. _ So it was. It was alright. As long as **Aziraphale** was there, it would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> So the thing about trauma and/or grief nightmares is that they don't usually manifest as reliving the loss/trauma exactly. Without getting too personal, Crowley's dream at the beginning is based very closely on some dreams of my own about loved ones dying. I find it interesting to think about how those kinds of experiences happen for other people. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this fic! I have more, longer ones in the works. Take care of yourselves! Get some water and take a stretch break. I love you! 💙


End file.
